


While Bathing/One

by Hobsonphile



Category: Babylon 5
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, They ARE Centauri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2013-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-26 12:03:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/965714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hobsonphile/pseuds/Hobsonphile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A duo of fics involving Vir and the woman with whom he got to one. If you don't want to think about Vir having a sex drive, run away now! (Originally published in 2006.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. While Bathing

After Lord Donato had at last collapsed in a drunken heap, Ilia had touched Vir. Maybe, with the chaos of the celebration, he had simply imagined it- or maybe it was completely by accident. But after he had struggled, red-faced, to heave his snoring superior onto an over-stuffed couch, as he anxiously arranged Donato’s rumpled clothing into some approximation of respectability, Vir had felt a flutter of something at his waist. It was a teasing play at a very sensitive spot and it had left him momentarily speechless.   
  
Vir was dreaming of Ilia almost nightly now since the Celebration of Life, and during the day, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. It made everything all the more awkward.  
  
Sighing, Vir sank slowly into his bath and breathed in the warm smell of soap and _linfra_ oil. Ilia smelled of _linfra_ earlier that day when she leaned over his shoulder to snatch a berry from his dish. As she reached, her sheer modesty piece fell away, revealing the curve of one breast. It was difficult to find his place in his reading after that. Even now, thinking about it, he was finding it difficult to simply breathe.  
  
Something twitched beneath the water, and Vir reached a shaking hand under the bubbles and stroked the end of one _brachiarte_ until his chest was hitching with pleasure. His eyes fluttering closed, he began to rub the one beside it with his other hand, imagining that Ilia was bathing with him, her breasts glistening with oil, her painted lips stained with purple juice.   
  
Then, slowly, gradually, he extended both _brachiarte_. The slickness of the soap and oil caused his grasp to slip slightly, but still, he held on, guiding both to his mouth and tentatively licking the rough surface of one with his tongue. He shuddered at the bitter taste of the _linfra_ , but a moment later, he decided the sensation felt too good to stop. Alternatively, he sucked and played his fingers across his _brachiarte_ , enjoying the inexorably building pressure until, at last, it became too much and Vir came, grunting deeply, his fingertips tingling, his back arching. Bath water sloshed over the edge of the tub and onto the tile floor as he came back down.  
  
A minute later, Vir scrambled from the bath and hastily threw on his robe, trembling, gasping for air, his face a brilliant shade of crimson.


	2. One

There was a certain way Ilia Donato ate _jakova_ fruit that always drove Vir to distraction. From the other side of the table, Vir watched, his evening meal temporarily forgotten, as Ilia clasped one delicate stem between two of her carefully manicured fingers, slipped the round, red fruit between her painted lips, caught, with one flick of her tongue, the leaking juice before it dribbled down her chin, and primly disposed of the pit when all had been sucked dry. Then she smiled at Vir and, after one quick glance at her father, reached over and offered him the basket. Vir immediately pinked, turning his eyes away.   
  
She’d noticed.  
  
A month had passed since Vir first realized he was hopelessly, stupidly in love with his employer’s daughter. And the approach of the province’s harvest holidays – a time when all southern girls switched to sheer dresses and flocked to the banks of the Edro to bathe – was hardly a help. Some days before, during an early evening walk through the reeds, Vir had caught sight of Ilia floating on her back down the center of the gently flowing river, her eyes closed, wet blue silk clinging tightly to her form, and he could not move – did not move – until she rolled over, kicked her legs, and disappeared beneath the surface.  
  
The memory made Vir feel very, very warm. After tugging at his collar once, he tucked into his meal, eager to remove himself from the room before there was any further embarrassment.  
  
And retreat he did when he was through. Mumbling a few words of respect to Lord Donato, he hurried into the kitchen with his empty plate, tripping on the way and nearly careening face-first into the cook. Dava dodged him without missing a step or overturning the _ja’ala_ on his tray.  
  
“S-s-sorry!” Vir blurted once he’d regained his footing. Dava smiled, admonishing his young friend to pay attention before ducking through the doorway with his burden. Vir blushed harder and, after depositing his plate on the counter, headed for the outdoors at once, mumbling imprecations to himself and nervously flexing and extending his thick fingers.  
  
The sweet evening air shored Vir up somewhat, and he decided to walk to the river. Perhaps a little bit of cold, fresh water was in order. Shucking his boots and his stockings and leaving them beside the garden pool, he started down the hill, enjoying the ticklish feel of the grass between his bare toes.  
  
Vir had been soaking his feet in the current for a few minutes when Ilia suddenly emerged from behind a tree, startling him nearly out of his senses.  
  
“I-I-I didn’t know you were following me,” he finally managed after a moment of fumbling and gaping like a _pesca_. Ilia graced him with another gentle smile, and Vir felt the muscles in his legs weaken just a little.  
  
“Then I suppose your debt is settled,” she replied, her eyes alight with amusement. Then, off Vir’s confusion: “A few days ago, you were watching me swim. I caught you before you went to hide.”  
  
Vir’s eyes widened. “Oh! Oh, I-I’m sorry, my lady. That was terribly rude. I-I-I didn’t mean to-” But before he could finish, Ilia rested one finger on his lips, and he fell silent. Then, inexplicably, she took her finger and trailed it lightly down his round cheek. Vir was stupefied.  
  
The next thing Vir knew, he was falling, falling into the reeds, and Ilia was kissing him. He was tasting _jakova_ juice, choking on perfume, and he couldn’t think or breathe. Panicking, he struggled against the embrace until he wiggled himself lose, then scooted backwards, wheezing, hardly noticing the stems that pricked at his palms.  
  
“My lady, I-I-I don’t think – I don’t think this is such a good idea,” he stammered.  
  
“And when will it be a good idea, Vir? After I have been married to Lord Cesaro’s oldest son? That imperious thing is every bit the mirror image of his father. And my father and mothers have already begun to discuss the arrangement.” Ilia lifted her chin in youthful defiance. “But I won’t marry him. He has boils. And he slurps when he eats.”  
  
“But I-” And Vir’s mouth was captured in another kiss.  
  
“Vir?” Ilia gasped when she came up for air. “Don’t talk. You’ve avoided me long enough.” And with one deft hand, she began to pop open the buttons of Vir’s waistcoat and squirm between the laces of his shirt. Vir grunted, arching his back and pressing himself against Ilia as she rubbed his first _brachiarte_.  
  
The next time they kissed, it was Vir who initiated it to quiet his own moan. Ilia had finally exposed his skin – and his quivering _brachiarte_ \- to the breeze. Ilia pushed her tongue insistently into Vir’s mouth to reciprocate, and Vir followed her lead. He felt his _brachiarte_ slip from its pouch, and, almost by instinct, he wrapped his arms around Ilia’s waist and tried to work his fingers between the fastenings of her corset.  
  
The garment would not come loose, no matter how hard he tugged. After a few more moments of inept pulling, his back sank to the ground and he broke away from the kiss.  
  
“Vir, what’s wrong?” Ilia asked, and in her voice was disappointment.  
  
Vir swallowed and closed his eyes against the humiliation. “I-I can’t. I mean, I haven’t.”  
  
Ilia wrapped her arms around Vir’s neck and rested her cheek against his chest. Then she sat up, cupped Vir’s face between her two hands, and kissed him lightly on the forehead. “Neither have I.”  
  
Vir opened his eyes. “Really?”  
  
“Everything I know about sex, I learned from Gordinio’s romance poetry,” Ilia admitted ruefully. Then she laughed, and Vir nervously joined her. Caressing the side of Vir’s face with the back of her hand, Ilia leaned over and whispered into his ear, “It’s all right, Vir.” Vir stopped giggling, stared, then kissed Ilia again, hard.  
  
At last, Vir was able to open Ilia’s corset, and soon her dress was falling open over her smooth shoulders. Vir extended his _brachiarte_ , wrapped it around Ilia, and hesitantly brushed against her first _aperto_. When Ilia opened her mouth and released a soft moan, he slowly entered, moaning himself at the sensation and wondering what six must be like if this was one.  
  
“ ** _COTTO!_** ”  
  
Vir froze, his arms locked around Ilia’s shoulders, as Lord Donato crashed through the bushes and reeds, his face twisted with feral wrath.

**The End.**


End file.
